3. Fire and Stone

ENTIN

CHAPTER 3

The stew was bland, but he couldn't care. Entin wolfed down first one, then a second bowl. But a drunken glare from Balru stopped him from reaching for a third.

Aiel was busy flirting with an older man, undoubtedly preoccupied with her childless status. Women who didn't bear children bore a lower rank in their tribe, and she had yet to do so. He watched them banter casually across the bonfire. It had grown dark, and many of the tribe had been drinking for hours. Entin hadn't been offered a drop of the fermented ale. And he found he preferred it that way. The sour-sweet mead usually made him vomit, anyway.

Entin watched with beleaguered eyes as Balru rose to his feet. He had a tribeswoman under each arm. They all giggled together as the giant man swayed this way and that. He was undoubtedly heading off to bed with the two, and Entin watched in disgust as the trio caressed one another. The bonfire had gone out entirely moments ago. All that remained of it were smoldering embers.

At that instant, a sound—blaring, terrible, and, worst of all, human—ripped out into the night. The sudden startle sent Entin's bowl tumbling to the ground as he tried to identify the source. Around him, the drums and conversations ceased abruptly. Then he realized he knew that sound: it was a battle horn.

A child began to cry.

"Raiders!" a woman screamed.

"Grab your weapons! Protect the children!" Balru yelled.

Commotion befell them as the tribe scattered amongst their hide-and-timber domiciles. Many of the men emerged with weapons. Women and children darted this way and that, scattering amongst the yurts to stay hidden. It wasn't the custom of their people for women to engage in open violence, and many of them had little experience of it. And so they ran.

But to Entin's horror, he found he couldn't move. He wheeled around from familiar face to familiar face. Everyone appeared to know exactly where to go and what to do. It was like they'd all been made aware of a grand design he was inconveniently oblivious to. He felt helpless—worse, he felt like an outsider. The battle horn blared again. And that's when the first home erupted in flames.

Shrieks broke out as a figure stumbled out of a nearby structure. The man was ablaze, screaming in pain as he tried in vain to put out the fire consuming him. The figure fell to the ground, where he writhed about in agony. Right then, out of the shadows, the raiders swarmed into the village.

Entin's eyes began to burn and water from the smoke. He couldn't distinguish friend from foe in the growing haze. There were fires and shrieks in every direction. He looked around frantically, hoping to recognize anyone—even Balru—but a second and third home had erupted into flames. The noise and chaos were everywhere, punctuated only by hazy embers and distorted, shadowy figures. He could barely see his own hands. Entin stumbled blindly through the bedlam, finding himself oddly detaching from reality. His eyes burned more painfully now, but his instinct to survive, like everything else, seemed to fail him when he needed it most.

"Entin!" Aiel cried from somewhere nearby.

Friendly hands grasped at him. To his relief, she had found him in the smog somehow. She clutched at his arm, then tugged him into the narrow space between two homes. They crouched low, and she motioned for him to remain quiet. It was then that Entin noticed she held a hunting spear in her other hand—in the light of the roaring flames, he could see its tip was scarlet with blood. Aiel noticed him looking at it.

"We're not going down without a fight!" she said defiantly.

Entin wanted to assure her—he wanted to imagine them valiantly proving the clan's customs wrong. And maybe in another life, they might have. But in this life, Entin heard the dull whrwhrwhr-ing of something that sounded like a giant bird or some kind of…

Aiel cried out in pain.

Before he knew what was happening, Entin watched on helplessly as her arms were pinned to her sides by some sort of tethered cord. She fell to the ground, fighting against ropes that had entwined much of her upper torso. Entin stared at them stupidly, then fell to his knees and began to try and untie her, but the wrapping went around and around and around, and he was having trouble tearing through whatever fiber it was made of.

"Help!" she cried.

"I'm trying!" Entin gritted back.

His hands shook as he tried to rip at the material with his teeth but to no avail. Little clay balls at the ends of the many strands had knotted them together somehow, and no matter how he pulled at it, he couldn't free her. Suddenly, a powerful kick to his gut sent him reeling away. He tumbled off into the mud. Aiel screamed out to him from a veil of smoke, but he couldn't see her anymore from where he lay sprawled on the ground.

"Aiel, I'm coming!" he spluttered.

He spit out bits of dirt and rock and blood. Then he frantically tried to rise.

"Pathetic little shit-smear," a deep voice growled. It was a man. He sounded cold, and cruel. An enormous raider leaned down and snarled into his face. He punched Entin square in the jaw, sending him reeling backward and thudding into the muck.

"You'd make a useless warrior," the raider spat.

He kicked Entin again. And then again—this time in the gut. Blood flooded from his nose, and he gurgled on it as he tried desperately to orient himself. The flames of a nearby housefire singed the hair on the back of his neck, and yet his hands and ass were cold where they made contact with the muddy ground.

His assailant advanced on him once more. He raised a hand to strike him. Entin recoiled in fear, scooting back in the mud so near the fire that it scalded him. But then, to Entin's shock, Balru charged out of the haze from behind his attacker and tackled him to the ground. The pair grappled and rolled while Balru rained blow after blow on the older man, who was nearly his equal in size.

"Run, Entin!" Balru screamed.

Entin didn't need any more encouragement than that. Except he found he couldn't run. He could barely drag himself away from where they fought. Using all his strength, he began to claw toward where he last remembered seeing Aiel.

Everything, everywhere, was naught but flame and smoke. The soundtrack of the night was endless screaming—men and women, children and adults, all wailing in a singular chorus as violence poisoned the sanctity of the Festival of the Moon. Entin wanted to scream with them. He wanted to fight—or run. But all he could do was flail about in the mud, helplessly searching for Aiel and unable to keep his burning eyes open long enough to find her.

He heard Balru cry out in pain somewhere in the distance. Then Entin stumbled right into a tall, solid figure. At first, he hoped dumbly that it was a member of his tribe. But none were as tall as Balru, and the man he'd just crashed into was even taller. Entin froze in fear despite the firm hands that steadied him.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man said firmly.

To Entin's surprise, their dialect was similar, although the raider's sounds came out slightly more blunted. Entin looked around, disoriented by the chaos. When he finally directed his gaze back at the tall stranger, he realized he was younger than he'd first noticed—a man, but only barely, just like him.

And then a rock struck him in the back of the head. The last thing he heard was the tall stranger protest:

"Harlak, no!"

Then there was nothing but pain—pain and the warmth of huge, strange hands cradling Entin's bleeding head as he slipped into darkness.

His skull was on fire.

Entin tried to reach for it instinctively but found he couldn't. Panic began to mount. Beneath him, there was a scraping sound and a dull vibration. But to his utter dismay, Entin couldn't orient himself. He couldn't even see. A leather mask covered his face—small slits cut for breathing were the only openings. It smelled disgusting, too. Entin tried to scream, but his voice was hoarse from the smoke, and all that came out was a wheezing croak.

And so he began to cry. Eventually, his entire body convulsed as fear and shame washed over him, threatening to drown him in their turbulence. He thought of Balru, Aiel, and all the others he had done nothing to help. All he was left with was his miserable thoughts.

The gods had doomed him.